The Disciple: a gripping psychological mystery (The Sister Veronica Mysteries Book 2)

by Sarah Sheridan

  He hadn’t eaten for several hours, but then he didn’t need to. The gnawing feeling in his stomach would subside soon. As Art always said, God always provides for the true of heart, so Gareth knew God would look after him, he no longer needed food, as what he was doing was helping to fulfil his father’s divine calling in a way Lance never had. He had water, that was all he’d need for now. What he was about to do would propel New Avalon into the public sphere, make people stop what they were doing and take notice of them for once; listen to their sound philosophies that were bound to bring salvation to the masses.

  He imagined the proud beam on his father’s face when he heard about what Gareth was about to do. Gareth wondered how the news would reach him. Maybe a television broadcast, he wondered. Tears may even come to his eyes, Gareth mused. Although to be honest, he’d never seen that happen before. But when Art knew what a true knight his one remaining son was, what a soldier, how devoted and loyal to the cause he was, he’d realise how much he loved him, Gareth was sure of it. He knew Art had always favoured Lance, he wasn’t blind to that fact, never had been. But he’d change that very soon. Morgana would be thrilled too. Gareth imagined her enveloping him in one of her cosy hugs. Not for the first time, he wished she was his mother; Auntie Morgs was so warm, her kind words made everything feel okay. He’d never known his own mother, she’d left New Avalon when he was two, his father had said. Wasn’t strong enough to conform to the tenets of loyalty, honour and integrity, apparently.

  Pushing down his grief about the death of his brother that was making a hot craziness well up inside him, Gareth turned his attention to the adverts on the opposite wall, determined to let nothing put him off his course. He was halfway through reading about the birthplace of what purported to be the best whisky in the world, when the Tube suddenly slowed to a halt. The motion excited him, the whoosh echoed the manic energy building up inside him.

  Ah good, it was his stop, Westminster. He swung his rucksack onto his shoulder, then stepped lightly out of the doors, listening to them whir shut behind him.

  This was his calling, he felt sure of it. He may not be King Arthur, but knight and charger he most definitely was.

  26

  ‘Brothers and sisters, my precious New Knights,’ Art spat. He’d been drinking all afternoon; whisky and mead, a potent combination when coupled with the unbridled anger, jealousy, grief and venom swilling around his mind. No one had been able to find Celeste, despite the constant searches. Morgana had informed him that Gareth had also left, taking some of his possessions with him. His one remaining heir. If his son had anything to do with Celeste’s vanishing he would fucking kill him. The people gathered around him watched silently as he careered around the podium, exhaustion in their eyes – Art was making sure no one slept until Celeste was found – some mothers pulling their pale children closer to them. This was bad, they knew. Art’s energy was palpable, it filled the room like one of the rampaging red dragons on the wall.

  ‘It is a sin, a SIN, my friends, to go against me, to betray me. For by doing this you are turning your back against God the Almighty.’ Sweat ran down Art’s face, drops of it flicking onto other people as he turned this way and that. ‘I have done all I can for you, shared my visions and dreams with you, pointed you on the path towards salvation. Many of you here are loyal; you have shown me integrity and honour through your actions, and for that I thank you. You committed to this life, and you follow the rules.’

  Morgana nodded, her hands clasped together in front of her bodice, her hair in a half ponytail. Awe and devotion shone in her eyes as she looked up at her king. She adored seeing him in full flow, with power oozing off him as he cast his spell over his followers. It was beyond attractive, she thought, the most primal masculine sexuality. She loved the way Art never reflected before he spoke, he didn’t care what people thought of him. If he had a problem, then everyone knew about it. And tonight, he clearly had an issue he needed to get off his chest.

  ‘But God has told me that one of you,’ Art hissed. ‘One of you is a traitor; a Judas Iscariot, a filthy pestilent disease amongst our ranks of purity. A malignant tumour spreading poison throughout our paradise.’

  His followers looked around nervously at each other. Someone was in for big trouble that night and they were all hoping it wasn’t them.

  Art stepped forward and slapped Lucan so hard that his whole head turned sideways.

  ‘He’s not one of us,’ Art said, looking around. ‘He never has been. His betrayal has brought punishment on us from God. Hasn’t it, Lucan?’

  ‘Art,’ Lucan said slowly, rubbing his jaw. ‘I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Liar,’ Art whispered. ‘You lay with the evil temptress, Mona. You had sex with the fallen woman who is rotten at the core. She infected you with her abhorrent sin.’

  ‘No.’ Lucan shook his head. ‘No, Art.’

  ‘And you still lust after her now.’ Art was so close that Lucan could smell the sourness of his breath. ‘I’ve seen it in your eyes. You’re as bad as she is. It’s your fault Celeste’s gone. The Almighty is punishing me for allowing you to live here, rotting us from the inside, tainting our purity with your wickedness.’

  He slapped Lucan again, the harsh sound echoing round the hall.

  Lucan turned back to face Art. He was still, silent.

  ‘You slept with Mona too, Art.’ When he spoke, his voice was low and steady. ‘But you did it with force. You raped her, over and over again. And she hated every minute of it, she told us all that. So surely, by your own logic, you must also be infected by her? Be poisoned? In fact, I’m pretty sure God does not condone the kind of abuse you inflicted on her, so if any of us here are bringing punishment on New Avalon, then it’s you, Art.’

  ‘Brothers and sisters.’ Art’s anger was now on a new level; quiet and frightening, but there was a look of satisfaction in his eyes. He took a step back, away from Lucan, then looked around. ‘Tell me now, as you stand before me, which one of you will not avenge this attack on your leader, King Arthur? Which one of you will condemn me to suffer with these words without taking vengeance on the Devil you see here before you? Tell me now, if I’m looking into your soul and talking about you.’

  Silence.

  ‘Tell me now if any of you are too weak to stand tall and save our beloved community from Satan?’ Art went on, staring around.

  Still silence, as though the assembled throng were holding a collective breath.

  ‘I prayed long, and I prayed hard,’ Art said. ‘I asked God to give me an answer. Why were these things happening to his flock in New Avalon? Why did Mona act the way she did? Betraying my boy, Lancelot? Why have Celeste and Gareth now gone? Why is this misery upon us? Finally I received an answer: Lucan. Can you not see, friends, that we now have a way to save ourselves? To gain our rightful place in heaven once again? If we do as God asks, we will be spared. We must cleanse ourselves of Lucan’s depravity once and for all and purify New Avalon. That is the will of the Lord.’

  A murmur went through the New Knights.

  ‘Step forward, any of you who stand with me,’ Art said. ‘Any of you who accept God’s will, and who will aid the cleansing of our home. Any of you who really love one another enough to protect your family, and to safeguard the children who live with us from going to hell. Let me see who my most faithful followers are.’

  Morgana was the first to step forward. Bedivere and a group of his friends followed soon after, all with apprehensive faces. This was bad, they knew. Something was going to be asked of them that they didn’t want to do. But they’d have to submit to the will of their leader, like they had with Kay, and with others who’d been called out in meetings. Three young boys also walked into the centre of the hall.

  ‘Sisters and brothers,’ Art said. ‘Through your loyalty you are earning your places as my most trusted allies. Come,’ he turned to the mainly female remainers, ‘who else? Do not let sensitivity cloud your decision
. There is no room for uncertainty in God’s plan. Do not forget, we are under attack. And as New Knights we must face this difficult time with honour.’

  Slowly, the remaining crowd walked forward, one by one, until everyone, now in a straggling semi-circle, was standing in front of Lucan.

  ‘Do not be scared.’ Art smiled down at their faces. ‘Cleansing ourselves will help save Lucan’s blackened soul, it will give him another chance at redemption. Who amongst us wants him to reside in hell forever?’

  More silence. Hardly any movement among the assembled throng. Everyone present seemed to be holding their breath, listening out for the next word from King Arthur’s mouth.

  ‘Lucan needs this. We all need this.’ Art slurred his words, but his tone was light, encouraging. He’d changed tack, he was good at that. ‘Look at me, knights. Trust in me, and trust in God. Lucan has chosen his path, and the Lord has passed judgement on him. Lucan has condemned himself. At the moment he is lost. But you can save him.’

  It was Bedivere who delivered the first blow.

  ‘Sorry,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘Sorry, Lucan.’ Bedivere had been homeless before Art took him in, he’d had a crack habit and had done horrific things to pay for his next hit. But Art had welcomed him with open arms, had helped him come off the drugs. Bedivere needed a home, there was no way he was going back on the streets. He would do what needed to be done, but he wouldn’t enjoy it. His friends took up his lead.

  Morgana soon followed suit, her strikes were rhythmic, methodical. She put all of her impressive weight behind her attack on Lucan’s abdomen, she knew how – she’d done this sort of thing many times before – and soon he crumpled towards the floor. He was not trying to defend himself at all. But he had shut his eyes.

  Soon the children joined in, delivering uncontrolled kicks at the body on the floor, girls and boys alike. One or two women gave some slaps, but most stood back and stared, some with tears in their eyes, one or two clenching their fists as though that would allay the unbearable sight in front of them somehow.

  King Arthur stayed on the podium, his hands held high in a worshipful praise to God Almighty. His breathing was slow now, he felt calm. Rejuvenated.

  ‘New Avalon is being cleansed,’ he cried. ‘And we shall all be saved.’

  27

  Sister Veronica stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom. Sounds of breakfast being made were going on downstairs and smells of frying bacon and toasting bread had started to waft up to the room. Melissa was taking a shower, and she was angry at herself for being hungry, for wanting her friend to hurry up so they could go down and eat. How dare she still have needs like that when Hope still hadn’t been found? How much more selfish and self-absorbed was she going to get, heaven preserve her?

  The previous day had been one of the hardest in her life, and she’d lived through some trying times. Beside herself with worry that Celeste had snatched the baby and cremated both herself and Hope in the fire, after all, who knows what strange views she has after being brought up in a cult – Sister Veronica had said to Melissa – she had spent the best part of the day haranguing police officers and anyone else on the high street who looked official and important. How many bodies were found? she’d asked. One, she was told, repeatedly. Are you sure? she’d persisted. Perhaps babies’ bones didn’t survive fires? Good gracious, she couldn’t believe she was having to contemplate such a thing. Only one body was found, she was told yet again. Was it Celeste? she’d asked. The girl who read tarot cards in Goddess World? They couldn’t give her any more information, they said. All lines of enquiry were being followed. Was it arson? she demanded. The fire, was it deliberate? Yes, she was told. It was arson. Which is why they were treating the area as a crime scene. That’s all we can tell you, they said, motioning for her to move along. She and Melissa had returned to the guest house just after nine in the evening, and as soon as Sister Veronica had lain her head on her pillow deep sleep had come, knocking her into a blank unconsciousness for the whole night.

  Good Lord, did Celeste really have it in her to snatch a baby? Sister Veronica had asked herself this at least a hundred times over the last twenty-four hours. Could she really have done it? Sneaked up and quietly taken the sleeping Hope from the pram while she and Melissa had been engrossed in conversation, drinking dashed champagne? She shifted, trying to get comfortable, the gloomy, grey light in the room reflecting both the weather outside and her thoughts. After all, it wasn’t just any baby, it was Celeste’s niece. The way she’d stared at Hope, the intensity of it, was now etched in her mind. She’d had a motive to take her; she clearly didn’t think much of her sister Mona, the way she’d smirked while she talked about her, perhaps she’d wanted to hurt her in some way and seen taking the baby as an opportunity to do this. Or perhaps she wanted to bring the baby up in her ways at the cult, indoctrinating her with some strange Arthurian ways of thinking. But that would be too obvious, surely? If she ever took the baby there the police would find her straight away. And Lucan had said Celeste had vanished, had never returned to New Avalon the night of the fire.

  Hope hadn’t wanted to be held by Celeste, she hadn’t seemed at all comfortable when the girl had held her. Sister Veronica had made light of it at the time, of course, she hadn’t wanted the girl’s feelings to be hurt. But it had struck her as unusual; Hope was usually happy to be passed round the nuns and parishioners, sociably enjoying all the cuddles she could get and usually charming any newcomers with a toothy grin. She’d never seen her so instantly ill at ease with a person. Mind you, perhaps Sister Irene would have got the same reaction if she’d ever picked Hope up and cuddled her, which, of course, she never had, perish the thought.

  The ringing phone, stationed on her bedside table, got her attention.

  ‘Hello?’ she said.

  ‘Sister,’ the now familiar voice spoke. ‘It’s Detective Inspector Harding. Listen–’

  ‘Have you found her?’ Sister Veronica’s words came out fast, rapid fire.

  ‘No, not yet. I’m sorry,’ DI Harding’s gruff voice said. ‘But I do have some news for you. Dental records have confirmed who it was that died in the fire.’

  ‘Celeste?’ Sister Veronica said immediately.

  ‘No,’ DI Harding said with a sigh. ‘I’m afraid it was the girl you’ve been looking for; Mona. Mona Adkins.’

  Sister Veronica’s mouth fell open.

  ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘It is. I’m sorry to break this to you, I know it must be a shock,’ DI Harding said. ‘I wanted to tell you now in case the press pick up on it. I saw a few journalists sniffing around when I was on the high street earlier today. They must have an inkling there’s a good story for them somewhere in the rubble and ruin. They’ll be all over this like parasites when the news breaks.’

  Sister Veronica’s heart ached. She could hardly talk. The poor girl they’d spent so long looking for. She was starting to feel like she knew Mona, almost as though she was a friend, which was strange because she’d never actually met the girl in real life. The poor creature had certainly been through her fair share of hardships, and Sister Veronica had been harbouring a secret fantasy that she could find Mona and successfully reunite her with her baby, Hope. She was going to offer to help her, maybe suggest a cleaning job at the convent – Mother Superior wouldn’t have minded, she was sure – it would have helped get her off the streets. But death was so final. Mona’s life on earth had come to an end in a horrific way. And poor little Hope was now motherless.

  ‘Are they certain there was only one body found in the wreckage?’ Her voice barely made any sound at all. But she had to ask again, to make absolutely sure.

  ‘Yes, Sister, positive.’ DI Harding’s tone was reassuring. ‘Just Mona. No one else. Definitely no baby.’

  A small spark of optimism presented itself in her mind.

  ‘Then Hope may still be alive,’ she said, strength coming back into her voice. ‘That’s what it seems like, doesn’t it, In
spector?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely,’ DI Harding said. ‘Try not to worry too much. I know that’s easy for me to say, but like I said, in these sorts of cases the baby or child is usually found safe and well.’

  ‘Oh dear me, poor, tragic Mona,’ Sister Veronica said. ‘She didn’t deserve this.’

  ‘No, she didn’t,’ DI Harding said. ‘From what the emergency services found, it looks like it was murder. Someone intended to kill her. I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give you any other details at the moment. But as you – and the rest of Glastonbury Town – seem to know, the fire was started intentionally at many sites round the house, and is being treated as a serious arson attack.’

  Sister Veronica thanked her for her help, and they said their goodbyes, with DI Harding requesting that Sister Veronica phone her immediately if she saw Celeste anywhere, as she was a person of interest they most definitely wanted to talk to.

  Melissa wandered back into the room wearing a dressing gown, her wet hair piled up in a towel. An intoxicating freshness – a mixture of soap and shampoo – floated into the room with her. A strange reminder that normal life had to go on somehow amid turmoil.

  ‘Oh, Melissa, there you are.’ Sister Veronica heaved herself into a sitting position. ‘Sit down, dear, please. DI Harding’s just phoned. There’s something I have to tell you.’

  Melissa took one look at her friend’s face and sat down sharply on the bed.

  ‘What is it, Sister?’ she said. ‘Tell me what’s happened?’

  28

  Celeste lay next to the fretting Hope on the bed of her newly rented static caravan, her long golden hair splayed out over the pillow. She was feeling tired but victorious. It had been a long night, and she’d had to stay awake for most of it, keeping the baby warm in a large blanket she’d taken from the shop for that very purpose. It was a strange but wonderful experience looking after an infant, she’d never done it before, not like this. Of course, there were children at the commune, but their mothers had nursed them as babies. And she’d never felt any real connection with any of them, had always been more interested in her own life. But this was different.